


a different way for the water to be.

by thackeryisatop



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Exes to Lovers, M/M, the good place AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:02:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26328337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thackeryisatop/pseuds/thackeryisatop
Summary: No one asked for Branjie x The Good Place; but given that this was prompted by the undisputed queen of Branjie fantasy AUs; I suppose that I had to give it my best shot![M/M AU]CW: (non-graphic) death mentions throughout, and some (mild) sexual/adult content [a couple lines of good times].
Relationships: Brooke Lynn Hytes/Vanessa Vanjie Mateo
Comments: 18
Kudos: 24





	a different way for the water to be.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [doctorbuffypotterlock79](https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorbuffypotterlock79/gifts).



> for the prompts: “Oh for fucks sake, let me help you.” - “All you needed to do was ask.” from Tumblr.

Jose's eyes snap open in a windowless; beige room, where he's sitting in a scratchy, poorly upholstered office chair, the armrests tight around his body, the legs bolted down to a floor covered with carpet that's the color of cheese. He blinks; not quite remembering how he ended up here- but that's hardly the most alarming thing. The craziest thing; is that his phone's missing from his pocket, his car keys no longer digging into his ass from his back pocket, and Brock's here- wearing a stupid white T-shirt emblazoned with some obnoxious slogan, his blonde curls plastered to his forehead, legs spread wide apart in his chair. 

He glances over, searching Brock's face for any answers, wondering why he's staring across the room, blue eyes blown wide with awe. 

"B, _what the fu_ -" 

" _Shhh-_ ", Brock presses his finger against his pink; freshly-licked lips, and cups Jose's cheek with his much larger hand, angling his face towards whatever it is he's looking at-

They're in an office; sitting across a desk from someone who looks suspiciously like Katya when she's out of drag; so the pieces click together in Jose's head like that: They're in the basement, at the studio, and they must be filming a segment for one of the shows. 

He's probably on take one thousand fifty-two, and Brock's probably pissed he keeps forgetting his lines, but sometimes it's just hard to stay in the moment-

 _Weird,_ though, because Katya never films as a boy; and Brock would never wear something like that if they were doing business-

"Oh, shit- I done lost my line again, hm?", he giggles, looking for the cameras hiding in the corners, the bar of lights that hang above them so that they always look right for those girls on YouTube who hang on to their every word. 

"No- listen.", Brock whisper-snaps in his direction, and he's gotta roll his eyes a little at that. 

"I am- give me my damn line so we keep this going. Production ain't never got all day and they talk shit all about you after if you take long-" 

" _Jose._ " 

The man across the desk runs a thin; blue-veined hand against his bald head, and if Jose squints, he can see it's not really Katya; his eyes an empty, mechanical gray where Katya's are a sparkling, bright blue. 

"As I was saying, welcome to The Good Place. I'm Brian. Your- well, I guess I'm your welcoming committee. Usually, we have a little bit longer to process you, and we get to really get to know one another, but there's a bit of a backlog and we don't have time for many questions. That being said; we're so glad that you've joined us. We're very happy to have you here."

" _The Good Pl-_ " 

_Shit._

He's seen _that_ show. 

"We're dead?", Jose can't help but blurt out. "We died? Bitch, answer me!" 

Not-Katya swivels in his office chair, tenting his fingers underneath his chin. His eyes are fixed to a point behind the two of them, and Jose grinds his teeth in the back of his mouth. It's fucking unbelievable- that he can't even give them the courtesy of at least looking them in the eye if he's got to drop a bomb like that. 

"If that's what you want to call it." 

His mom's probably calling. Looking for him, pissed as hell and - Brock's too. Their families must be losing their shit on The Other Side- _if-_

"How long we been dead for?" 

"Even I don't have access to that information.", he tells them, smiling with a mouth full of perfectly sharp, white teeth. "But given how time is relative, and moves with the phases of the moon, the last earthly clock I had access to probably wouldn't be very helpful with that. We're switching over to a new time system, ah- next sun cycle- This one comes from the Gregorians-"

Jose shakes his head desperately, as if it'll wake them both up from whatever acid nightmare they're stuck in. 

Brock sucks thoughtfully, on the inside of his cheek. 

"You said something about how we were different, and that's why you needed to talk to us first?", he asks, breaking his silence if only to move them along from Not-Katya's babbling about the tides of April or whatever kind of garbage is falling out of his mouth while Jose tries to shake loose an answer that will free them from what's clearly a Hell Dimension. 

"Right- yeah- sorry. I was going to get to that. Old brain, you know, sometimes it just runs like a wet dog out of wedlock- right. The two of you are very special, I've even got a note in my agenda about it.", he flips through a notebook that's seemed to just appear in his hands, and taps at a line on the paper. 

"We never get couples Here. Usually, we match soulmates afterwards. You'll be the first couple to make it to The Good Place, in the past eight hundred and fifty seven years. Whoever you a- whoever you were, you must have been very, very special people, and it's our pleasure, to welcome you to an eternity that you'll spend with your own very, very special someone."

-

Brian turns them loose in the back alley of a colorful street; his arm extended forward in a grandiose gesture. 

"This is where you'll be spending the rest of your l- time together, so do, acquaint yourselves!", he says, with a smile so wicked that even Brock is suspicious for a moment, but it passes when he really opens his eyes and lets himself look around. 

The Neighborhood is hung in gauzy whites and burlap accents; aqua and brushed gold that spiral from flecks on the widows; all framed along a soft, gray cobblestone street. Every color is muted; and the air is sweet, smelling like a patchy; warm mix of spice and sunbaked flowers. Sugar plays at the tip of Brock's tongue, and for perhaps the first time in recent memory, anyway- he sucks in a deep, full breath. If this is Heaven, he's never felt so much like he really, truly belongs. 

If he closes his eyes, he can hear the beach, behind the third little seafood bar they pass on their way up the street, Jose pulling him along impatiently, his heart still throbbing through Brock's fingers, the soft fabric of his red and black flannel shirt brushing up against Brock's wrist. That's the part he doesn't understand, not yet, anyway- because no matter how he turns it around in his mind, he can't quite figure out how it is that despite everything, Jose is by his side. 

Had they died together? Was there an accident maybe- that had chained the two of them together for the entire rest of the future of the universe? There's a second, more frightful theory: he's dead, and Jose isn't- nothing more than a figment of his imagination meant to give him a perfect afterlife. 

Something pulls him away from that train of thought, though- namely, Jose pulling the two of them into a empty storefront with a huge blue umbrella hanging over its entrance. Behind the counter; a pale, green-eyed woman greets them with the same wide, empty smile that seems to be painted on every face in The Neighborhood.

"Our happy couple!", she coos, clapping her hands together, and Jose's eyes roll skyward as he shuffles Brock into a back corner of the shop, hiding behind a rack of sateen kaftans brushing over the tile floor. 

"Hear that? We got to stop that-", he snaps in a stage whisper, holding up the fabric of a bright green kaftan to his face to hide his lips. 

"What is going on with you?", Brock finally asks him, threading the leopard print fabric of another one of the kaftans through his own fingers. 

"They think we're a couple-" 

"We just got into The Good Place, and that's what you care about? I'm pretty sure we can Heavenly Divorce or something since clearly, Sunday School lied about ninety percent of what's supposed to be a sin. What, were you thinking you'd have a hotter ex by now?", he teases. 

"No- that's not- ugh", Jose huffs out in frustration. "Brock, listen to me." 

"Fine. Convince me that there's _anything_ wrong with exactly where we are right now." 

"Okay-", Jose pulls him closer, resting his head against Brock's shoulder when he notices the store attendant watching them just a little bit too closely, her eyes glassing over like she can't quite see them, even though she's staring straight at the both of them.   
  
"I've seen this movie- and we ain't a couple. We're not the people who are supposed to be here, and who knows how many other mistakes they've made too? Something happened and we got messed up in it, and when This Place finds out we're not the people it wanted to let in, it's gonna fuck us _all the way_ up." 

-

Brock doesn't believe him. 

How could he, after they're greeted by Brian (The _Other_ Brian, they introduce themselves), a stockier, even balder version of Brian, who screams with laughter at excitement that they're not only meeting The Couple, but they've had their name picked from the hat to take the two of them Home. 

"Not with me, of course. Not since those rumors about me and the Other, Other- well, I guess for the two of you, he would be Original Brian- but- everyone gets custom-built accommodation; with a little bit of living in it, of course- it'll feel just like home!" 

It's a tall; sable brownstone, exposed brick lining the white-shuttered windows, iron rails climbing up a short flight of stairs where green and violet flowers twine together at their doorstep. Even Jose, for how difficult he's being, can't help but have his mouth drop open when he turns the doorknob, opening to a wide, spacious sitting room and sparkling hardwood hallways that lead into a dining room peppered with brightly colored kitchenware all laid out on a cute little table, perfect for two. 

"See?", Brock sighs, shaking his head when The Other Brian leaves them alone, practically skipping his way back up the street. "This place is perfect. It's gorgeous, and we even have two bedrooms. So what if The Good Place is a little behind on everything that's happened in the past couple of years? Would they know that you-", he lifts one of the plates, a sweet, warm peach-toned terra-cotta, from its place on the kitchen island- "are the one person who actually buys plates with colors unless you're supposed to be here?" 

Jose just shakes his head, slicking back the part that falls against his forehead. "My plates were yellow, and I had some blue ones 'cause Silky had a good deal and they went good together. I would never, never buy something pink. Or- square. Who eats food off of squares?" 

"Who's this picky in Heaven?", Brock shoots back.

"Stop saying that. If they figure out we're not supposed to be here, we going straight down the fire and brimstone express." 

"What are you so afraid of, big guy?" 

"Eternal _dammi-fication_? That not scary enough for you?" 

Brock shrugs, and strides across the kitchen, pulling open a glittering, silver-chrome refrigerator. "They have salmon, whenever you're done freaking out." 

Half an hour later, it's Jose who pours from a bottle of just too-flat white wine, into flutes that are supposed to be for champagne, the two of them sitting across from each other on plush dining chairs, mouths dripping with juice from the basil-slathered fillets they split on those pink, square plates. 

"To forever.", Brock toasts, and in the pale light of the setting moon, even his stupid shirt doesn't seem as annoying; his smile real as ever. Even though Jose's still floating in what he hopes he'll wake up to discover is only the most awful kind of teasing Dreamland, he lets his hand float to his drink, raises it to clink against Brock's, meeting his bright eyes from across the table. 

"Something like that." 

* * *

It takes a week; or so, Brock calculates in his mind, before he starts to get the sneaking suspicion- that Jose might have been on to something. 

It starts with the blankets in his bedroom; (which quickly becomes their bedroom- of not for anything other than Jose's room across the hall, is stifling hot, so much so that running both celling fans at once does little to cool it down- driving him into Brock's bed on their very first together)- they're made of soft, fluffy fabric when he drapes them over their bodies, only to turn heavy and coarse some time in the night, leaving them both half-naked and tangled up in nothing but the sheets, staring up at the ceiling with no choice but to fold into each others bodies for warmth. That morning; they wake up freezing cold, nursing matching morning woodies and staring awkwardly at each other in bleary half-sleep. 

They might be together forever now, but they still haven't talked about it. 

After all, they're kind of alone, now- in the strangest sort of way. No fans, no friends, no families, no pressure- only the two of them and the sea of anonymous faces, and even if they were those exes, who hated each other as much as they had the first week after breaking up the very first time, they were the only two who knew each other, and everything that had come before. 

No matter what happened, Brock would never be able to shake Jose; and vice versa- a choice taken so far out of their hands that it was almost a comedy on its own. 

After The Blankets, which Brock tosses into what The Good Place's version of a laundry chute must be, it's the water. Their place doesn't have a shower, only a slippery, clawfoot bathtub that necessitates the two of them practically hanging off of each other, skin steaming with the scent of chamomile and lavender- which is another thing; Jose's allergic to lavender, and scratches himself almost raw from the body wash in their bathroom, until Brock tosses that out, too. 

The clothes in their closet are uncomfortable; if not absolutely questionably hideous, the two of them stuck in the least offensive items in their wardrobe- matching red velour rompers, sitting across from each other on the too-soft leather sofas in their living room, when they can't ignore it anymore. 

Sirens start going off in the neighborhood, and Other Brian announces that everyone's to stay inside. There's been another Disturbance, and they'll have it all resolved by the morning, by for now, doors are to be locked, windows to be shuttered, and no one is to venture out on the once-crowded cobblestone streets, until the situation is resolved. 

Before Brock can stop him, Jose pulls him to window and points at the absolutely massive thing that's stalking up their street, destroying the little shop that they had ducked into, only days before. It's Henry; a huge, blown up version of the cat that Brock remembers cuddling against his chest, a paw swiping at the weathervane above the little cafe that they've visited twice now, even though it only serves lukewarm coffee and uses fake, calorie-free sugar. 

"They're definitely on to us. Shit!" 

-

The next morning; Brock manages to talk him off the edge, of marching right up to Original Brian and telling him that something's wrong. 

"You're the one who said we were going to The Bad Place if we do that!"

"Yeah, but maybe if we ain't lying, they just, I dunno, they talk to us and we promise that we don't tell anyone they messed up, they just let us go." 

"Go where? The Brians' are just going to drop us off at Mickey's like nothing ever happened? We're dead!", Brock shouted.

"Plus that place's far as fuck from where I moved to before- wait a sec-", Jose blinks, poking a finger up against Brock's chest. "I can say fuck." 

"Yeah.", Brock chuckled, happy to see him calming down, even if only a little. "They really lied about half the stuff that was supposed to get us sent to, you know-" 

"No- that means this isn't The Good Place. You can't say shit and fuck in The Good Place- and that means-" 

-

Jose would have never considered; that Hell would actually be forever being by the side of the man that he was so sure he had been in love with; for perhaps the longest time in recent memory. 

But; he forces himself into Brock's side, holding his arms across both of their faces; as they run across the sidewalk and up the street; ignoring the bright orange and blue speakers on the head of every streetlamp that tell them to go back inside- because today, it isn't Henry on Godzilla scale ready to eat them, but a cascade of what looks like overcooked brown rice, and every assortment of disgusting, chalky beans; start to scatter across the street, falling from the sky as it opens into a massive gaping, black maw. 

They're definitely going to have to fix this; but for now, dodging through the rest of their Neighbors, Brock's larger body like a shield around him as the push into the Neighborhood's center square, to the brick-and-clapboard rustic three-story building where Original Brian's office was, he almost wishes that it wouldn't have to end so soon, Brock's arm braced against his back, his sticky hand still solid in Jose's. 

He could get used to this; running up a street on a grand adventure like they're both in an Anne Hathaway movie; until a slimy, uncooked kidney bean splashes across his face. 

_Oh, Hell no._

* * *

"Well-" 

Original Brian stares up at the both of them from behind his desk, those spidery, tented fingers still hovering underneath his chin. 

"I can't say that I'm surprised that you've figured it out." 

They're in his office now, still picking at bean guts on their shirts, while a cleanup crew handles the aftermath of the chaos outside. 

"I was telling Brock I knew someone made a mistake and we ain't supposed to be here but- wait, what do you mean figured it out? Figured what out?"

"That this-", Original Brian lifts his hand, gesturing at the empty; beige space of his windowless office walls. "-isn't the Good Place. In fact, it's an artificially created Neighborhood that exists to further- well...for research purposes. Let's just leave it at that." 

"So it's The Bad Place?", Jose shouts, his mouth open with utter shock. "But I'm nice! I don't know about Brock sometimes, but he's Canadian so-" 

"Mmm. I wouldn't go that far.", Original Brian tells them. "You see; we- we've experimented with that before. Even had a documentary made about it. Very successful for a documentary picture- but no. This, is more of... A Medium Place. You weren't too bad; weren't too good. And it's where most people do end up, once we fixed our algorithm, we realized that we needed to do some more work- on figuring out what Medium really means. So, we just took the very first few of you, and threw you in here. No big deal, really. But, in case you're curious, you'll still end up in a Medium Place, and you'll still be together, when the trial period is over." 

"We aren't together!", Brock finally blurts out. "We weren't- we aren't- we're exes, and we're kind of friends, most of the time. " 

"We sort of were friends who fucked for a little while, we was coming back to that-" 

"Jose!" 

"What? We were, we was having an arrangement type of deal!" 

"Is that really what's important here?" 

"Okay- okay, fine."

"We aren't a couple. We're not the people who are supposed to be here right now and we- well, Jose thinks that's what's making this place, whichever place it is, act up like this. It's trying to get rid of us, because we shouldn't be here.", Brock explains, hoping that Brian and he can find common ground; at least. "And I- I agree with him. I don't think we're supposed to be together, and maybe we never were- we tried it and it didn't work in the real world- and every time that we try again, it's just gets worse. As I'm sure you can see." 

Jose's mouth drops open, and clamps closed, into a tight, straight line, his chewed through lips thin lines of chapped pink. 

Brian's eyes flutter closed, breath blowing out through his flared nostrils. "Okay. Let me- let me talk to the Other Brian, and look at our Algorithims again.", he says, punctuated by a sad; strangled sigh that Brock isn't sure is coming from him, or from Jose beside him. 

"Shit-", he mutters, realization crashing into him with the same force as the flurry of beans they had sidestepped outside. "Hey, I didn't mean it like that-" 

_"Oh for fuck's sake-",_ Original Brian interrupts him. _"-let me help you."_

-

There's a solution. 

There's a way that they can fix all this; according to the Brians, who spend the afternoon poring over a stack of legal documents that only seems to grow bigger as they sort white sheets of blank paper into larger and larger piles on Original Brian's desk. 

"It's this-", The Other Brian points out, their thick fingers tapping against a sheet of paper that they unfold with flourish. "Do you see this?" 

"The fuck that is?", Jose asks, the attention that he had only paid to the floor for the past twenty or so absolutely agonizing minutes, suddenly snapped up. There's a name written on the sheet; a wide, black and looped scrawl that spells out Jeremy Bearimy. 

"I thought we weren't letting them swear.", they snap at Original Brian, who only rolls his eyes. 

"They're Medium Swears. We don't let them say c- It's not important. This-", says Original Brian, clicking a pen from his breast pocket so he can point out the exact part in the looped script where a swoop of the letters; seems just slightly off, even to Brock from two feet away. "-is the entire timeline of The Universe. This, where it looks like it's crunched- is where the two of you are from. It's an anomaly, that should have been corrected by the focus group at our last Chronology Breakout meeting." 

"It really was the worst year ever.", Other Brian adds. 

"Either way, it'll take about a week for us to file the paperwork, and the two of you will be able to return to Earth. We can't guarantee what's going to be waiting for you there- but you're right- you don't belong here, and we really, really do apologize. We haven't had this many Anomalies at once in so long-", says Original Brian. "-so if you make it to the end of the week, this is all going to be nothing but an interesting little detour. Something to bring up at parties, someday." 

"But-", the Other Brian points out, their eyes sweeping over all of Jeremy Bearimy at once. "- whoever you are to each other, you need to get along until the paperwork comes through. We're not going to have our entire Neighborhood, and this whole project, jeopardized any more than it already has." 

As if on cue, sirens start blaring again on the street. 

"Shower pipes are all exploding again. I'll take care of it.", the Other Brian huffs out. 

"I thought it was only one time in the shower!", Original Brian groaned, waving Brock and Jose out the office door. 

* * *

"You didn't need to say that, you know- in there.", Jose snaps, shoving the door of their home, now dulled with Medium colors. Perhaps they had always been that way, and Brock had only been excited, he thinks as he throws himself back on the smooth; pebbled leather sofa; just wishing that shutting his eyes, would make it all stop. 

"What, the truth? We don't work. We'll never work. And I'm not-", he pauses, and sucks in a deep, measured breath. It must be the Medium Place, Brock realizes that keeps them from being able to be elated that they'll be able to go back, or enraged at the situation they've found themselves in. "- I'm not the bad guy because I couldn't be the person you wanted." 

"I never said you were.", Jose says quietly, the venom sucked out of him as he reached for a blanket beside Brock, folding it over his middle. "I never did that. Whatever these bitches back home used to say taking words out of my mouth, wasn't what I meant. But maybe- maybe you're right. We just need some time away from each other. Especially 'cause- we could've been stuck together, forever-" 

"Don't lie, you'd like it.", Brock jokes, letting his hand drift to rest on Jose's wrist. 

"Might be fun. But maybe I wanna see what else is out there, too- before we settle down and everything.", Jose chuckles. "Guess we only gotta wait a week to start our engines, though, right?" 

"Don't even." 

"What? You laughed. _I seen you smiling_ -"

-

Their week passes like this: 

On what Brock assumes to be the Monday; the very first breath of fresh air the day after they meet the Brians in the Office; the sun rises, cool and low, over a hazy, overcast day. Orange creamsicle rays squeeze through the clouds, casting wide, gray shadows on the cobblestone streets. They sleep apart that night; the temperature cooled in Jose's bedroom, enough that after sharing a quiet dinner of rice and sauteed peppers; they separate in the hallway with a fond look in the others' direction. 

Nothing more, nothing less. 

Brock jogs up the street in the early morning, leaving Jose still asleep under his ceiling fan, and waves through the windows in some of the shops. Suspiciously; they're always open, but he supposes that's a mystery for another day, leaving it in the back of his mind as he collects their coffees, a black Americano for himself, and a second mocha latte, with extra sugar, iced down. 

Surprisingly, today- the coffee isn't lukewarm. 

On Tuesday; they separate after breakfast, Jose ambling through a garden of exotic flowers, scent held back by the Medium Place, the gaudy colors and hanging leaves reaching out against his skin, like phantom fingers. When he's all alone, in the silence of the middle of the day, the sun high above him, he wrings his hands together and takes a deep, shuddering breath, letting his eyes drift shut. 

In the half-orange light behind his eyelids, he figures it out. 

All of it. 

When he climbs into bed beside Brock that night, he only squeezes his shoulder before he says Good Night, and means it. 

Wednesday, and Thursday, the most medium days of the week; knit together in a comfortable, placid flatness, the two of them tangled up in bed in the morning, moving with each other to prepare breakfast from their always, strangely filled-up fridge. Brock pulls a container of watermelon slices from the bottom shelf, and the pink juice runs down their chins as they face each other, legs crossed at the table, and finally get to talking- about the past, the future, and where they go from there. 

It's what they owe each other, after all. 

-

It's Friday night, and Jose is straddling him, their bodies moving in an entirely too Earthly rhythm, his cock between Brock's thighs as he reaches climax; all over those too-scratchy bedsheets; that Brock knows he won't miss when they leave This Place. 

The sky outside is dark and calm; a black sea that stretches over them, hushed and tranquil.

They're both far too warm, bodies slick with sweat and fevered with a sort of desperation, just under the surface, muted by the Medium Place, or perhaps, by the gravity of what it will mean: Going Back after all of this; what world will face them when they're no longer alone, together. What they will take forward; and Brock wonders; kissing down Jose's mouth and chest, lips soft against the stubble of his chin; and if they'll want it to follow them; or if they'll take their fresh start. 

Luckily, he doesn't have to come up with the answer right now, because the speaker in the corner of their room rustles to life, forcing the two of them apart like they're teenagers who have been caught in the act. 

It's The Other Brian, telling them to come down to the Office. "The papers just came through, and since you two probably don't want to waste any more time with each other, we can get you on a train in the next twenty minutes. Don't bother packing, obviously.", he says. 

Jose giggles, pushing himself up on the bed, the sheets rustling around them. They'll still need to get dressed, of course, though Jose's not sure why that still matters in This Place. 

"What, now you want to stay?", Brock can't help but tease, pulling on a pair of denim shorts; the pockets suspiciously filled with the heavy, now unfamiliar weight of his keys and wallet in the front pockets. 

They're really going Back. 

"You wish. But you ain't gonna get rid of me so easy.", Jose laughs, happily finding his phone in his back pocket, as well. 

They hustle down to the office, locking the door behind them on the brownstone without a second thought. It's nice, but it's not for now, and Original Brian greets them with a wide smile when they stumble into his office, more excited than should be allowed in a Medium Place. 

There's a bright green, neon-lit box resting on his desk, a dull glow pulsing from its center, and Brian gestures towards it. 

"Put a finger on the edge closest to you, and you should be right back where you belong within, well-", he checks his watch, a golden, ticking thing that glitters far too much for it to be something that belongs in the Real World, "-ten minutes? Four cosmic revolutions? Nevertheless-" 

Jose slaps his hand over the left side, winking at Brock as he reaches for the cube, too. "Coming with me?" 

_"All you needed to do was ask."_

* * *

"You knew they were soulmates, didn't you?", Original Brian asks the Other One, watching as the two disappear into the ether in the Office. 

"Of course. But it's not a bad idea to give them some time to figure it all out.The wave returns to the ocean. What the ocean does with the water after that is anyone’s guess." 

"Where in the universe did _that_ come from?", Original Brian laughs, a harsh, scratching scream of a noise. "Do you think there are any more Anomalies in the Neighborhood?"

"I sure hope not. Our performance review is _next week-_ "

**Author's Note:**

> (hope everyone enjoyed that lil' bit of background Trixya, too!)
> 
> I think I might have rushed the ending a little bit, let me know what you think- I didn't really want to write out the whole conversation between them and leave that all up to you, plus I've left this in my inbox for a couple of days now and just didn't want to make it seem like I wasn't gonna do the prompt at all.


End file.
